The Stubborn Edge of Pride
by Destiny's Creator
Summary: Takes place in the far future. Ritchie is a top priority company owner, wealthy bachelor, and should have everything he ever needed or wanted. Should being key.


Title:  The Stubborn Edge of Pride 

Author:  Destiny's Creator

Disclaimer:  Do not own, original characters are mine, no money comes from this… blah, blah, blah…

Ratings:  PG-13, mostly for language 'cause they're men, and well… that pretty much explains everything in my opinion.

Warnings:  Eventual SLASH between R/V, and I can't stress this enough!  Male/male situations, along with homosexual adoptions, if _any _of that disagrees with you then simply _don't read!  _

Summary:  Takes place in the far future…  Ritchie is a top priority company owner, wealthy bachelor, and should have everything he ever needed/wanted.  _Should _being the key.  Virgil as Static Shock is #1 Justice League, constantly busy saving the world, and adored by everyone, everywhere.  So why does his past keep _getting in the way?_

General:  "speech," 'thoughts,' _emphasis_

~*~*~*~

"They were still demons, still predators.  Only now they used napkins after devouring their prey."  –Welcome Ritual by Morgan D. (Eien no Hakusho)

"Most men are individuals no longer so far as their business, its activities, or its moralities are concerned.  They are not units but fractions."

**-**Woodrow Wilson

*~*~*

Chapter 1:  Anything worth _something_ is worth awaiting for

*~*~*

"Richard Foley… tops in his graduating class of Dakota High, tops in Harvard Business Management and Finance, tops in just about everything he does.  

"Not much is known abut _this _super brain, although rumors have been circulating of this man of mystery being linked with none other than _Static Shock's_ original partner Gear, of all people!  Whether there is any basis of truth to the gossiping is still unknown.  

"What _is_ well understood however, is his recent contributions of defense to the government, purchase of Alva Industries, and not to mention People Magazine's most handsome bachelor of …"

*~*~*

The woman reporting, along with the rest of her story, faded off the screen with a click.  I have no need of hearing it.  What could they possibly tell me about myself that I didn't already know?  As for Gear… well, he's long been dead.

A knock sounds on my doorway.  That's strange; I told my secretary no interruptions for the rest of the night.  Just as I was about to buzz security, the door swings open.

"Well, just come right on in then," I drawl, already bored.  I bet I know what this is about… 

And I'm correct; here she crawls in now, the sniveling curd… set on hands and knees are we?

"I could have sworn our discussion was over with Anastasia.  It ended with that pink slip in your hands."  Just like disciplining a small child, can't back down halfway.

"Plea…please, sir you can't just…"  How pathetic, the tissue does add a nice touch though… to her cowardice; she won't even raise her eyes to meet mine.  Though that's quite normal, they say my icy blue depths chill the soul.

  
But what would they know?  Certainly, nothing I don't already…

"I can, I have, I must… you understand that don't you?  You're effort was less than satisfactory, I can't have _anything _less than satisfactory in _my_ business."

"But…"  
  


"_But?_  But what?  You deny it then?  But nothing!  You say you've done your part?  Well then, here's mine.  I've been observing you since day one and even though you may not look the part, heck groveling on the floor you may not _act _it either… but you have ambition, lots of it."  A carelessly tossed shrug to ease the tensions, "Normally that's a good thing you see, but I'm afraid you're aspirations are just a little too high for my taste."  'That's putting it lightly.'

I reach over and force slim, cold fingers under her quivering chin, tutting softly.  "I want the begging, whining, and defiance out of my office and _out of my sight_.  Got it?"

I wipe the tears off onto my pocket-handkerchief as she scurries back, nodding miserably at her shoes properly ashamed…, and fuming.

"Good…now get out."

Harsh was I?  Nah, I wasn't… not really.  Believe me or not, doesn't matter, the self-preserving bitch had it coming.  Honestly, I've seen the 'innocent until proven guilty' act more times than I have to spare.  Please all it really is, is this 'innocent until proven guilty…but I'll never get caught.'

Or so they think.

They always suppose they can one-up me.  A simple usurp ought to do it, throw me out of the picture for good and they'll have it made.  Gang together if they can to preserve their selfish interests.  Meddle, plead, scratch and bite, anything to ply at my firm hold, finger by finger if need be.

But I'll never let go.

I've played this dirty game of commoners long enough to know the reality of human nature.  

Lying through your teeth isn't a learned behavior; telling the truth is though.

And so what?  I've been doing this for years upon years now and no one's bested me yet. As long as I stay on top whose to blame, them or me?  Sensitivity's vastly overrated.

In medieval times, there was nobility, there was the upper class, and then there was all the rest… the peasants, the poor.

Well guess what, getting rid of a few monarchs doesn't change _anything._  Only difference is now, more than ever, you have to _earn _your way through this materialistic society, and that's just what I've done.

It's all that matters.

*~*~*

In truth, I shouldn't have been all _that _surprised… really, I shouldn't have.  In all actuality, I _knew_—expected, anticipated—that he couldn't stay away forever.  That he would_ eventually_ return, no matter how long it took.  But still, when he just one-day waltzesinto my executive's office… let's just say I was less than prepared.

Then again, in my justification, there _were _12 or so odd years between us.

And I should probably be clarifying this in his defense as well; he _didn't _just waltz in…  He didn't exactly have a scheduled appointment either, but it wasn't as though he barged in on some poor, unlawful client and me.

That would have been too much, to have anybody actually bear witness…

No, my secretary even gave me a full two-minute warning.  This whole thing…I swear it's because I didn't let her take off last Thursday. 

Maybe I'll try starting from the beginning…  

It had been such a good, _normal_ day too.

I had my Starbucks Cappuccino with _just_ the right amount of whipping cream—not too much, not too little—I arrived on time for once… not that it's a big deal if I'm a few minutes late mind, being the CEO, head, and founder has compensation.  What are they going to do, _fire_ me?  

Finished most of the paperwork early without too many problems—God knows those contracts are such a _pain _in the…—before breaking stride for lunch, and by midday had met _all_ production quotas for the closing month.   

What can I say?  Put me in a good mood.

And the stock market ended high for what seemed a first in a decade!  Finally, I took a last, quick tour of the assembly lines.  And _just_ as I was about to head home—packed, ready, and reaching for trench coat—_this _comes in:

"Mr. Virgil Hawkins here to see you sir, says it's imperative."

I freeze up—_I _do, _me_—and stare at the answering machine like an absolute _idiot_.

"Sir?"  

I stare some more, mind completely numb and _gone_ as I grope—like a _fumbling_ idiot—for the right buttons…  How _do_ you work this thing again? 

"May he come in Mr. Foley?"

For a moment, I was tempted—_very _tempted even— just to dare and say something smarmy, along the lines of 'Janice, you know the procedures…  No admissions without a _previously_ _arranged_ engagement!'  Then hang up all together, high and mighty—childish, I know yes—but then at least I wouldn't have to deal with…

At last, some movement as I reach out to hit speakerphone… gracefully spilling halfmy formerly _neat _piles of documents—_along_ with the remainder of the morning's coffee—from the desk, to swivel chair, to floor.

Thankfully, _behind_ the desk—easy enough to cover—…but now my chair's wet.

Insert barely stifled groan, 'this is _just _peachy…'

Inwardly cursing, I reply with a brisk "Send him in" of consent before attempting to straighten my suit to… presentable.

_No_, I was _not_ fidgeting.

And as I said, he didn't stalk up arrogantly, or slide in smoothly across tiled floor—all moves one might of presumed for the great _Static Shock_—why he didn't just fly in on that discus of his is _still_ a mystery.  But Janice had said _Virgil Hawkins _had come to speak with me. 

Indeed, Virgil Hawkins quietly knocked then—though not the one I vaguely remembered—and after a brusque command "Come in!" cracked open the door inch by agonizing inch.

He looked nervous when he finally entered and I let loose a breath I'd held on accident.  After all the dealings with the best those lousy business tycoons had to offer my expression held firmly to classical stoicism.    

He however wasn't so lucky; there were no masks to hide behind this time.

Age had done good things for him.  Virgil the teenager wasn't _entirely_ covered, but years of Static gave him the dignity to more than shuffle in any case.  Well—chagrined at the sight of him running into the coat hanger—suave may not be the word of choice either. 

But he was definitely taller, and a _lot _broader, stronger—and more masculine—after all the weight lifts and crime fighting.  The goatee was a nice touch too and the hair—tips down instead of up—…an improvement.  He was also _massive,_ towering over my slight and dwindling form by a good foot or so. 

But the eyes… those hadn't changed—well harder maybe, from his line of work—but still impossibly honest, trusting.  Those were his downfall.

He rubbed sweaty palms together; distractedly pulling at the collar of his business suit… it fit him well—perfectly—but wasn't him, _at all_.  If ever there was a fish out of water…  Of course, that's what I first thought when I put on mine.

Wonder if _I_ still look as dashing… 

He clears his throat first.  It's been what…five minutes?  And he's still only gotten halfway across the room, which is a while for such an awkward silence… 

I firmly suppress all urges to glance at my wristwatch; he might get the wrong idea… then again, isn't that the point?

"How can you stand to wear these things?" he finally jokes anxiously, twitching the cufflinks at his thick wrists.

I lean away from my desk casually, both eyebrows rising… and toss in a noncommittal wave for effect.  "I just do…  Please, have a seat."  There is _no way_ my _ex_-best friend will intimidate _me_. 

And to my utmost satisfaction, you could tell that he doesn't agree; may be a future advantage in that…

I keep my face carefully blank.  

"Comfy?"  He nods almost mechanically.  "Good.  Now, what do you want Mr. Virgil Hawkins?"  All business as usual, but was that just a tad too callous?  Flamboyant?  I can't really tell anymore—I _think_ it was—sometimes I forget the impressions I have on people.

…actually, no I don't.

His mouth opens and closes like a…gaping fish… undeniably out of place with what I've seen of him in the tabloids.

And no, I _don't_ keep track.

A quick check see if the doors shut completely, thankfully one of my earlier investments involved a thorough and secure soundproof system.  Just never know when certain superheroes with secret identities might stop by… 

I wasn't planning for this.

"Please don't do that Rich."

"Do what?" guiltless as the day I was born, and just as relentless…

I give him my signature 'look;' flat, blatant, one of those I picked up somewhere between illegal fiascos with the CIA and shady deals with those detached, dull, deathly stiff-necked lawyers. 

Intimidation strategies… are, and will forever be, good and useful.

"Er…that is… you've done well for yourself, I mean."

Wow.  He sure _looked_ daunting with his six-foot frame easily blocking the doorway, but now?  It was _almost _laughable how readily he went to pieces... almost.

But someone has to keep it together.

I sit down in the armchair, wincing as I do so—great, leather doesn't absorb fluids.  That part about keeping it all together… just about nipped it in the bud.

I am calm, I am composure, and…I am in desperate need of towels while _still being_ calm and composed.

"I suppose I have… wasn't hard exactly.  You know, one or two well thought out inventions here and there and the media swarmed me over.  The rest was cake; all it took was smart investing and marketing."  I let out a terribly artificial laugh, discretely grinding my teeth together as I do so...  Oh no, _that_ didn't sound in the _least bit conceited._  

Since when do I care? 

"And what about you?  Youngest member eve_r_ of the Justice League… not to mention the most highly valued.  Congrats are in order."  Of course, turnabout's always been fair play, at least where conversational topics are concerned… oldest tactic in the book, but whatever works.

"This sounds so weird coming from you…"  A voice that had once been high and uneven, a trace squeaky, now rang a deep, thoughtful baritone. 

"Well if you're not comfortable then leave!" Snap.  Okay… so fast recap; all manner of equanimity gone—poise indefinitely destroyed—but heck, the next best level of _safe_ handling would be… defiant anger.

He blinks at me incredulously, "I'm not."

Not uncomfortable or not leaving?

Okay, deep breathe here…  So far, it's only been a grand total of ten minutes, and _already_ he's ground my patience to a fine powder, with only about _20 words_!

Maybe I wasn't as on the ball as I originally thought, I take it all back… it _has_ been a long day and _I want to go home!_

My fists ball, unconsciously I pound at the table as I stand, before unclenching in defeat and exasperation.

"Virgil what is it you want of me?  We haven't seen each other for _ten years_—newspapers aside—I could've sworn you'd forgotten my existence!  Anytime the League needs something they send someone else—like the Flash or Green Lantern—but then _you_ just up and decide to show one day?  What gives?"  

'And forgetting all pretenses of agreed to avoidance no less.'

I was starting to sound more and more the impatient teen I worked so hard at escaping and what was worse… 

"Mr. Foley?"  Blasted secretaries, I practically seethed—honestly, I don't know _why_—when answering.

"Yes, Janice?"  I growl out.  'Patience is my middle name, _really,_ it is.'

"Sir, your son's here to see you."

Mortification…is amusing really; to see fully-grown superheroes pale like the rest of us is… quite comical.

Virgil's tone cracked ever so slightly—but undeniably noticeable— "Son… you mean you're…you're married?!"

He openly blanched at the idea.  

What?  Do fortune and fame mean _nothing_ anymore?  I could very well, _very easily_ be married! 

I sniff haughtily in disdain, letting him suffer just a _little_ _more_.  

Oak doors creak open cautiously and I don't stop the small smile that threatens, seeing him… a little black boy, around 7 years of age, terribly timid, and…

"Adopted, about 4 years ago.  Normally they want couples but…  I was successful enough and _very _reassuring, they made an allowance."  'Donations help to speed these things along nicely.'  
  


I bend down and beckon him forward.  He came, keeping shy—impossibly large—brown orbs on the man sitting across from me.  Those eyes were what had captured me most… reminded me so much… 

Having successfully skirted the room, he tugs at my pant leg in short demand until I lift him, still examining my visitor with an entirely serious demeanor.  He's contemplating…something… even I can never tell.  Virgil himself is just as curious, but if it were at all possible, I would venture to guess that he wriggled under _this_ intense study even more than he had _my_ own.

Then something seemed to click, youthful eyes light up and round, a smile appears as he, embarrassedly, burrows into my shoulder and points.

"It's Uncle V dad, Static!"

He quivered bravely as he pulls back, making sure I understood.  

"Don't you see?  It's Static!"  Oh, the young and energetic, but still…

"What have I told you about using those names in public young man?"  I scorn disapprovingly, frowning slightly.  It was too dangerous, knowing things like that…

"Sorry dad," faltering high halfway in the middle, rolling his eyes, no he wasn't.

I was _about_ to reprieve further, but instead rudely interrupted to my dismay… and _much_ to the delight of my youngest.

"And who's this little tike Rich?"

"This… is Evan," I reply hesitantly, protectively; lips pursing tight against the long unused nickname, "And stop calling me that."

  
He completely ignores me.

"Evan huh?  He's…"  Virgil stopped, for the first time since arriving at the office uncertain.

"What?"  I unintentionally prod on after a moment; if he so much as _thinks…_

"Well, he's… he's incredible."

I blink slowly, dumbfounded.

I'm at first taken aback slightly, then grateful, and now confused beyond recognition…

"Virgil Hawkins," I finally sigh frustrated /huff indignantly, "I've gotten rid of Alva for you, the mutinous gas has been taken care of; a cure found… the entire Justice League space station remodeled and refitted with the latest technology has to offer…  Now, what more could you possibly have for me?  I'm through with the superhero shenanigan, charade…"

I trail off as, abruptly, my son is plucked out of my arms and gently set safely aside.  Then, just as suddenly, I am embraced—bone crushingly, nearly pulled off the ground—in a desperate outburst from this one time friend.  

Wits completely burnt at their ends, I panic.

'Virg!  Virg, are you alright?  What happened V?  What's wrong?' my adolescence—I thought I had squelched all those years ago—practically bursts in secret, but I manage to contain it and control all urges of comfort from reaching the surface.  

Or so I thought…

For one reason or another, I don't push him away.  Impulsively, my hands flutter of their own accord to land somewhere on his back and rub reassuringly.  I whisper a word—a single word I found fitting—not essentially meant to soothe… but coming darn close.

"Alright."

What am I agreeing to again?  

Why do I get the feeling I just signed my death warrant with a plastered smile?

He holds on tighter.

~*~*~*~

A/N:  Yes, let me elucidate here, Ritchie is very _OOC_ on _purpose_!  You see, that last new episode I watched, "The Hoop Squad" or whatnot, was _very _enlightening.  Quick recount on the conversing between mad scientist person and a captured Gear:

Evil Genius: "I thought you of all people could appreciate my inventions."

Gear:  "And why would you think that?"

Evil Genius (laughs maniacally):  "Because you remind me a lot of _me_.  And you know what?  _I hate me!"_

Gear (mumbles):  "Well that makes two of us."

Oh, the possibilities are all there!  So I thought, let's make Ritchie's intellect get the better of him, take Virgil out of the picture for about 10 years, stick him back in—mix, shake, stir, bake—and viola!  Could have even made Gear a bad guy, pitted them against each other, etc… but I figured I'd save that for later (a.k.a. already started that story).

And for all you still waiting for that promised sequel… gah!  I'm _so_ close!  But I haven't really been in the mood to do something light, much less proofread 15 pages, so we'll just have to wait.  I'll try to get it up by this weekend though… it's just I've been depressed lately (my golden retriever of 11 years has bone cancer; we may have to put her down).  I figure I should probably go through some major condolences of my own before I start on anything _that _cheery with fluff again… also "Between Time and Tide" is in the same hiatus for now.

Just try to think of this story as I sequel to a sequel until then!

Kudos to everybody who's reviewed so far!  Never felt this loved before and, let me tell you, it helps a _whole_ _bunch_!  Picks me up and kick me in the fanny so to speak.  Thanks a mil and I promise a reply to all in upcoming chapters!

Look for Chapter 2: Knowledge _is _Power

Teaser~ a limousine ride, dinner…could this be considered _a_ _date?_

Wait and see!  ^_^


End file.
